


Iggy Pie

by Ginia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Baby!Noct, Fluff, Gen, smol!Iggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:43:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginia/pseuds/Ginia
Summary: Armed with a kind heart and good intentions, Iggy tries to teach himself how to cook.





	Iggy Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiekkis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiekkis/gifts).



> Just a little bit of wee baby Iggy fluff to survive the Episode Ignis trailer blues. 
> 
> Sorry that it's so short but I liked it too much to not post it anyway. :(

Ignis had never been what the adults called a picky eater. He cleaned his plate with gusto, whether he was given meat, fish, or vegetables. He’d even gobbled down the bowl of half-cooked, ice-cold porridge his uncle had rather unfortunately served him one miserable Sunday morning (his uncle had apologized profusely when he’d realized what he’d done, and from that day on took Ignis to diners for their meals whenever his nephew was spending the night).

His Royal Highness, the Prince of Pickiness, one Noctis Lucis Caelum, was another matter entirely.

Noctis didn’t like anything that was too gritty, but he also didn’t like foods that were too soft. “Eww it tastes like sand!” he would complain, or “Yuck, mushy desserts!” Anything that was green put him right off, even if it wasn’t a vegetable. It couldn’t be too sweet, but too salty was also a huge no-no. The chefs at the Palace were at their wits end trying to come up with dishes that met the young prince’s ever-changing whims while also meeting his nutritional needs.

At first the young Prince was treated with endless indulgence and patience. Being royalty, and being rather adorable as well, went a long way towards extending the staff’s patience. Eventually, though, limits were reached and tethers snapped. The staff began muttering to themselves, tutting and tsking disapprovingly. Words like “spoiled” and “brat” were bandied about, along with the infamous label of “picky eater”.  Never within earshot of the royal family, of course, but the small sandy-haired Scientia boy was easily overlooked and he often overheard the complaints.

Ignis, though only seven and barely a year into service to His Highness, already felt the bonds of fealty and loyalty wound tight about his young heart, binding him to his Prince. It hurt the young man to hear his Prince, his friend, spoken of in tones of such contempt. He didn’t think that Noctis disliked so many foods on purpose. He didn’t choose to be grossed out by textures, tastes and colours. And if the staff simply listened to the Prince’s feedback and stopped trying to sneak him foods he didn’t like, and just cooked foods that they knew were Noctis-approved, then there wouldn’t be any problems, would there? No wasted food, no re-cooked meals, and no crying toddlers. I mean really, last night alone they had tried to hide entire brussels sprouts in his mashed potatoes. As if the Prince wouldn’t notice that. He’s a toddler, not an idiot.

Clearly, even at the age of seven, Ignis Scientia was already smarter than most of the adults around him, and it was time to take action.

Ignis sat on the floor of his bedroom, surrounded by cookbooks and stacks of post-it notes. He had written out a long list of Noctis’s likes and dislikes and assigned a different coloured post-it note to each. The cookbooks around him were overflowing with tufts of coloured paper that made sense to no one but the young Advisor-to-be. Before long he had assembled a simple menu of Noctis-approved foods that should be nutritious and, to the prince’s tastes at least, delicious.

Not trusting the adults to listen to him, because what adult ever did truly listen to a seven-year-old (even one who is a child prodigy), he scooped up his books and toddled his way down to the Palace kitchens, barely able to see over the mountain of cookbooks in his arms. He looked like a stack of books that had grown legs, with a pair of thick-framed glasses just barely peeking out over the top.

Using an overturned crate as a makeshift stool, Ignis stood at the counter. A fine dusting of flour covered everything around him, from the floor, to the countertops, to the toes of Ignis’s dress shoes and on up to the tips of his ears.

An experienced hunter and tracker could perhaps look at the little handprints and footprints embedded in the flour and read in it the story of the little boy’s efforts, from where he’d mixed a simple dough and tried to roll it out with his hands before discovering the amazing invention known as a rolling pin, to the place where he’d carefully pulled apart bits of pre-cooked garula meat, and laboured with a butter knife to dice bits of cauliflower and potato. There was even a telltale streak through the flour on the floor that showed where Ignis had slipped and fallen trying to pull a baking tin down from a high cupboard.

The Palace chefs would eventually find him, crouched down in front of the oven, his nose practically squashed against the viewing glass, watching the meat pie he’d tried to make cook.

Ignis had gotten himself grounded for a week as punishment for not asking an adult to help him use the oven. When his punishment was over, though, his uncle had set him up with private cooking lessons with the Palace chef, because honestly his meat pie had still been better than anything the elder Scientia could make. The child clearly had a natural gift – one of many – and everyone around him was determined to nurture it.

Noctis had liked it, too. He’d called it “Iggy Pie” and insisted that it be added to the Palace’s regular menu. Even more than a decade later the Prince would still sometimes cock his head in his Advisor’s direction, quirk a shy half smile, and ask for “Iggy Pie” for dinner, and Ignis would oblige, suffused with nothing but fondness for his liege and oldest friend.

 

 


End file.
